


Life With Seven

by TheLadyFair



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Babies, Baby, Birth, Birthday, F/M, Fluff, Group Marriage, Love, Lumione - Freeform, Marriage, Married Life, Multi, Multi - Freeform, Polyamorous Character, Polyamory, Polyandry, Polygamy, Romance, Twins, Werewolf, sevmione - Freeform, snamione
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-06-24 03:23:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15621456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLadyFair/pseuds/TheLadyFair
Summary: A series of related-but-not-necessarily-consecutive short stories of varying length detailing Hermione's life with her seven husbands, updated as they're written. It has no beginning and no end.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Each chapter's rating will be listed at the beginning of the chapter. The Rating for Sable's Birth is Mature for Nudity and a Birth Scene.  
> This story is also available on FFN. Mature and Explicit chapters will be available on this site only but all others will also be posted to FFN.  
> Thank you for reading.

 

##  **_September 19, 2009_ **

Hermione Granger stretched languidly between the cotton sheets of an unfamiliar bed, pausing only when she bumped against a lean, naked thigh. Humming with satisfaction, she rolled onto her side and traced her hand along the plane of that thigh up past a well-defined hip bone and onto to a muscular chest. She stopped with her palm resting above the spot where heart and magic thrummed softly, teasing a smattering of chest hairs with her fingertips. In the soft light of early morning she could appreciate the gentle lines and firm muscles that made up Neville Longbottom, something she never thought she’d get to say. Though they had been married a year, last night she had felt his body moving against hers, within hers, for the first time and she smiled at the memory.

“Hullo, love,” Neville murmured sleepily, his sandy hair hiding his face from sight even as he wrapped an arm around Hermione’s waist and pulled her as close as her overlarge belly would allow. “Have you been awake long?”

“Hmmm,” Hermione murmured, nesling her face into his shoulder. “Had contractions off and on all night.”

She felt him tense against her before rolling onto his side and placing both hands flat onto her stomach. He smiled as her muscles rippled beneath his palms, still looking rather sleepy. Unable to help herself, Hermione brushed his bangs out of his eyes and pressed a chaste kiss against his lips.

“Do I need to floo Severus yet?” he asked.

“No. Let’s sleep a while before we let him know. It’s going to be some time yet and you wore me out.”

“You sure? If it was mine, I’d want to know as soon as your first contractions hit.”

“I’m sure.”

“He won’t kill me for keeping you?” Neville’s expression melted into one of worry and he bit his lower lip.

Hermione chuckled and threw a leg over his. “What Severus doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Go back to sleep.”

Mumbling about angry husbands and legilimency and sneaky bats, Neville scooped Hermione closer to his chest and pillowed his head against her curls. Within minutes they were both asleep.

* * *

Neville awoke hours later to the sounds of Hermione moaning loudly. The bed was cold next to him and he sat up quickly, the covers falling off his bare chest as he looked around his room for his wife. She was nowhere to be found and for a moment he wondered if it had all been a dream before he heard her bite back a whimper.

“Hermione?” he asked, leaving the warmth of the covers.

“B-bathroom,” she cried and Neville quickly crossed the room to the door that was slightly ajar.

When he pushed it open it was to find Hermione standing under the spray of the showerhead, as naked as the day her mother birthed her, with her arms tossed over her head and looped around the neck of a very wet Severus Snape. Suddenly conscious of his own nudity, Neville grabbed one of the fluffy brown towels off the shelf and wrapped it around his waist before meeting Severus’ dark, penetrating gaze.

“Severus,” he said levelly.

A stream of water running down the length of his nose before cascading off the end didn’t make Severus’ presence any less commanding. A muscle jumped in the Potion Master’s jaw before he dipped his chin in greeting. “Longbottom,” he drawled. “Would you talk some sense into our wife? She seems to think flooing or apparating to the hospital will be detrimental to herself or my child.”

“I am standing right here!” Hermione snapped, each word punching between her gritted teeth as her legs trembled through another contraction. Severus held her up with both arms wrapped tight around her–one beneath her milk-filled breasts and the other beneath her swollen belly. The fabric from his black shirt was soaked through and clung tight to his forearms and her skin. Neville had to drag his gaze away from the contrast and tell himself to focus.

“Love,” Neville cooed, stepping into the spray with her and Severus so he could try and talk some sense into their wife. Soothing her curls back from her brow, he waited for her to meet his eyes. “Wouldn’t you rather give birth in a nice, warm hospital bed?”

She glared at him and Neville had to override his initial reaction of retreat. Sometimes Hermione looked just like Severus when she was upset.

“One in every one thousand, two-hundred and fifty-one women lose their child when they floo to St Mungos,” Hermione recited, her glare intensifying as another contraction hit and her legs slipped out from under her. Neville supported her from the front as she leaned back into Severus and wondered if they’d be able to talk sense into her before the baby came.

When she came back to herself, she continued as though nothing had happened. “And one in every six-hundred and seven women lose their child by apparating there. We. Are. Not. Going. To. St. Mungos.”

“Well you’re not having my child in Longbottom’s shower!” Severus’ lip curled and Neville stepped back. He knew that look all to well. As the Potions Master scooped their naked wife into his arms and stepped out of the shower, Neville readjusted the towel around his waist and turned the knobs. He shook the water out of his eyes and met Severus’ gaze over a verbally resistant Hermione.

“Shall I call Lucius and have him send the family healer?” he asked.

Severus nodded curtly. “You may as well floo the others when you’re done. Tell the twins if they even think of bringing a Weasley product into this house while my child is being born, I will personally flay them alive.”

As Severus spun around, robes billowing, and carried their wife out of the bathroom, Neville realized that even fully clothed and sopping wet the man was able to make a dramatic exit. He narrowed his eyes–surely there was a spell for that.

“Now, Longbottom!”

Jumping at Severus’ sharp tone, Neville hurried to locate his own bathrobe and head down to the floo. It was going to be a very long and busy day.

* * *

Severus paced back and forth in front of the door behind which Hermione was giving birth. Ten hours into it and she had kicked him out for, quote, “driving me mad with your incessant pacing”. That had been two hours ago and he hadn’t heard a single sound from in there in over twenty minutes.

As he raised his hand to knock, Lucius interrupted him. “Sit down, Severus. When the baby’s coming she’ll call for you.”

He scowled but did as he was bade, stalking across the study and settling into a leather arm chair. The six other men in the room were all either staring at him with various looks of amusement or wisely avoiding his gaze like Longbottom.

“She put a silencing charm on the door,” he complained to nobody in particular. “She could be dying in there and I wouldn’t know."

“Hermione didn’t place a silencing charm,” Fred said.

“We did it,” George added.

“You were–”

“Getting too worked up.”

“We decided you couldn’t handle hearing her anymore.”

“You’d be worked up if this was your child,” Severus snapped, glowering at the twins.

“Don’t be daft, Severus,” Lucius purred. “She’s our wife, too. It’s not easy for any of us to sit here and wait for news.”

“Hmmm,” Severus conceded, glancing around the room at his wife’s six other husbands.

Fred and George grinned back at him from the settee where they were squished in on either side of a very relaxed-looking Lupin. Lucius, sitting in the second arm chair on the opposite side of the fireplace, smirked and raised his glass to the twins. Perusing the bookshelves and looking as out of place as a dragon at a tea party, Gregory Goyle merely glanced back at him and shrugged. Out of all her other husbands, Severus like Goyle best–he was almost always silent. Chancing a glance at Longbottom, who was sitting behind the desk still peering at his hands, Severus smirked wryly. They were the oddest group but somehow Hermione had managed to keep them from killing one another for an entire year.

“I’ll remember all your support when it’s your turns,” he drawled.

The twins guffawed at that while Longbottom whimpered. Lucius smirked back–out of all of them, he was the only one who already had an heir and therefore wasn’t required to produce a child with Hermione. Severus knew his wife, though, and he figured Lucius’ spawn would be nipping at his own child’s ankles before he or she went to primary school. She’d want things to be _fair._

Relaxing into the chair at the thought of his wife browbeating Lucius into a kid or two, Severus missed the healer popping his head through the door and asking for him. It took Fred tossing a crumpled up ball of paper at him for Severus to jerk his head up. Before he even heard the words, “Your wife is requesting you,” he was halfway to the door.

“What’s wrong?”

Hermione’s voice came from inside the room, filled with the kind of humorless tension that comes from extended periods of unrelenting pain. “Nothing’s wrong you daft man. It’s bloody time.”

Snickering could be heard behind him and Severus sent a couple wandless stinging charms in the general direction of Fred and George as he swept past the healer and into his wife’s room. Smirking at the shocked oaths echoing behind him, he settled onto the edge of the bed and brushed a kiss across his wife’s sweat-soaked forehead.

“Never kick me out of your laboring room again,” he demanded, not caring that it sounded like a plea.

Wrapping her hand around his, Hermione nodded tiredly. “What makes you think we’re doing this again?”

Lowering his voice, he whispered in her ear the way he knew she loved. “Oh, I think I can convince you to do this many, many times over, Hermione. Don’t you?”

She blushed and he smoothed her hair back from her face. Pressing a kiss against her chapped lips, he whispered his love for her before glancing at the healer. “Where do you want me?”

The healer succeeded in meeting his gaze but didn’t quite manage to keep the stutter out of her voice. “I-in the bathtub, Master Snape. Your wife has requested a w-water birth.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Is that safe?”

Hermione smacked his arm. “Perfectly. Now help me up.”

Pursing his lips, Severus did as he was bade. He carried Hermione to the tub and settled her into the warm water. Kicking off his shoes, he rolled his sleeves to his elbows before stepping into the tub to sit behind her. As soon as she was in his arms again, Hermione laid her head against his shoulder, wrapped her hands around his arm like vice grips and began moaning.

“Push, Mrs. Granger. Push,” the healer urged.

Severus was fairly certain the hair on his arm might never grow back from where his witch ripped it out. But, an hour and a half later, he didn’t much give a damn about his bare forearm as the healer pulled his infant daughter out of the water and placed her with a wet _smack_ of skin against Hermione’s bare chest.

Sable Jean Granger Snape was bloody, waxy, wrinkly and far too red in Severus’ opinion, but his heart melted anyway. As he brushed a finger through the inch of pitch black hair on his daughter’s head, he kissed Hermione’s face.

“You did beautifully, wife,” he murmured against her skin.

“Hmmm,” Hermione agreed, nudging Sable to her breast. “You did pretty good yourself, husband.”


	2. October 29, 2010

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Current Short - An Unhappy Surprise: Hermione seeks solace with Greg after a fight with Fred and George. Plus, a surprise! Post-Marriage-Law, HG/Multi, HG/SS/LM/GG/FW/GW/RL/NL, varied ratings listed at top of each short.

October 29, 2010  
“This is not bloody funny, George.”  
George Weasley, business owner, Wizengamot member and prankster extraordinaire flinched visibly at his wife’s sharp tone. Arms wrapped around a very cute, dark-colored lion cub, he was sitting on top of the counter of his shop as a fully grown male lion–this one a rather gingery sort–sat, shame-faced, on the ground next to him. Standing in front of them, Hermione Granger stood with her dove grey robes billowing around her body much like another member of their family that George figured everyone except Hermione was terrified of. And perhaps Sable… but the little tyke was predisposed to like her own father.  
“You said we could pick a Halloween costume for her,” George said in the same voice he used to use when his mother was furious with him. A placating one, complete with furrowed, earnest eyebrows. It had always worked on Molly Weasley. Thus far it had never worked on Hermione. Not even when he and Fred were in school trying to pull the wool over her eyes.  
Hermione crossed her arms and curled her lip. “I said I would think about letting you come shopping for her costume with me. I did not say you could experiment on my child.”  
“We didn’t experiment on her,” George said. “Honest! Costume-in-a-Bottle has been fully vetted by our testers.”  
The male lion nodded his agreement. Bumping Hermione’s crossed arms with his muzzle, he made a purring sound in the back of his throat that George figured was supposed to be comforting. Really it sounded like he’d just enjoyed a meal of raw antelope steak and was getting ready for a cat nap. The lion’s reward was a sharp smack to the nose and a finger wagged in his very lion-y face.  
“And you, Fred Weasley,” Hermione barked. George tried not to relax too visibly as their wife’s attention was redirected to his twin, who was currently looking every bit the King of the Jungle they’d named the product after. “I suppose you thought I’d just let it go because you tested it first, huh? And you’re supposed to be the sensible one.”  
Fred hid his muzzle behind his paws, his red mane falling over his face as he growled an apology. George thought it was pathetic how cowed a male lion could look when he was being scolded by a woman who was barely taller than him in her pair of sensible flats. Then again, he figured he probably looked pretty cowed himself. And he still had his human height of just over six foot.  
“Hand her over,” Hermione said stiffly.  
George patted the lion cub on the head and carefully passed her over to Hermione. Though he was pretty sure the cub could land on her feet if dropped, he didn’t want to piss Hermione off any more than they already had. Not when she hadn’t said anything about contacting Severus. He clung to the tiny hope that his former Potion’s Master would not find out they’d turned his one-year-old daughter into a lion cub.   
“How long will it last?” Hermione asked only after she’d looked over every inch of the purring cub to make sure Sable, at least, was a healthy little lion cub.  
“It’ll wear off in no more than four hours.” George left out the part where four hours had ended a full ninety-three minutes ago and neither Fred nor Sable showed any signs of reverting to their human form any time soon. Hermione would likely kill him, resurrect him and call in Severus to torture him before she killed him again. And there was no saying what they’d do with Fred.  
“You’re probably going to a zoo, buddy,” George whispered, petting his brother on the head.  
Fred mouthed his hand in return. A gesture George was pretty sure was commiseration. Together they turned to face their wife and the little girl they’d turned into a lion cub in an attempt to bring muggle Halloween customs into the Magical world.   
“We’re sorry, Hermione,” George said, acting as spokesperson for the both of them. It wasn’t like Fred was going to roar his apology to her.  
Hermione’s eyes were suspiciously misty and her voice sounded stilted like she was choking back her emotion. “That’s just it… you’re always sorry. But you ne-never think. You two… you j-just never think!”  
For some reason, those words hurt more than any of her scolding ever did. George unconsciously scratched behind Fred’s fluffy ear and opened his mouth to apologize again. Before he could, Hermione let out a sob that cut straight through George’s heart as effortlessly as a slicing hex, buried her face in Sable’s fur and disapparated straight through their wards like they were tissue paper.  
“HnnnHnnn,” Fred growled.  
Hopping off the counter, George nodded. “You said it, buddy.”

Hermione snuggled against Greg’s barrel chest, silent tears dripping off the tip of her nose to stain his cotton tee dark. He pulled her more tightly against him and placed a chaste kiss against her curls.  
“H-how could they?” she sobbed quietly.  
The silence of Greg’s bedroom and his quiet comfort was something Hermione had come to rely on in her two-plus years married to seven wizards. Of all her husbands, he was the one she’d been most nervous about. Not only was their history rocky, but they were so dissimilar. But Greg was quiet and loyal and rather sweet with her. Even their lovemaking was slow and languid as though he wasn't in any rush to part from her.  
For a man who looked like he could rip a hippogryph in two with his bare hands, that was endlessly surprising to Hermione.  
And right now, he was exactly what Hermione needed. As soon as she'd made sure her daughter was alright, she'd apparated to Greg’s room at the family manor. If he was at all surprised when Hermione launched herself into his arms and demanded he take her to bed, he didn't show it. That was her Greg, though. Staid. Level. True.  
“They never think,” Hermione mumbled into his chest. “A lion cub! They turned her into a lion cub for Halloween. What kind of stupid do you have to be to think that's a good idea?”  
Greg shrugged, the motion like a wave through his whole body that rocked Hermione. “Dumb as Crabbe,” he murmured gruffly.  
Smoothing a hand across Greg’s chest, Hermione hummed her agreement. Crabbe. The idiot who almost burned them all alive by casting fiendfyre in close quarters. She pressed a kiss against the wet spot on Greg’s shirt and sniffled. Crabbe had been his best friend. Lost to his own idiocy.  
“Fred and George are lucky I didn't tell Severus,” she said. “They'd be flayed alive and the resurrected so he could poison them slowly if he found out they tested a trial product on Sable.”  
“Costume-in-a-Bottle,” Greg grumbled. “Dumb idea.”  
Hermione sniffed and nodded her agreement. It was a brilliant idea, really. The muggleborns would be all over it this Halloween. But any interest Hermione might have had in supporting the product had been wiped away when she found out the dark brown lion cub curled up against Fred’s chest was her one year old daughter. By next week she would make sure Costume-in-a-Bottle was permanently banned from being sold in Great Britain. The boys would complain, but they had to know they couldn’t get away with the same crap they pulled at Hogwarts. They needed to grow up. She needed them to grow up.  
“What’s really wrong?” Greg asked.  
Pushing herself up, she looked into Greg’s face. He wasn't handsome by any means. But he had a softness to his gaze that came from learning life’s hard lessons early enough to change the person he was going to be. He cupped her cheek. One fat thumb rubbed a new tear from her cheek and his gaze darkened.   
Lip quivering, Hermione fought back a new wave of tears. Greg was observant. Like Severus and Remus and sometimes even George. She couldn't hide things from him the way she could with some of her other husbands.  
Which was probably why she'd come to him instead of Neville.   
“If they're that careless with Severus’ daughter,” she whispered between her tears. “How could I possibly trust them with their own?”  
Greg’s eyes widened in surprise and he moved with a speed that belayed his size, sitting upright and scooping Hermione onto his lap. She straddled his sides and he pushed her back, covering the slight swell of her tummy with one giant palm.  
“You're pregnant.”  
Hermione nodded, her tears pouring now as she whispered, “Twins.”  
“Idiots,” he growled, though he smiled gently and was stroking her stomach through her camisole with a look of awe on his face.   
When Hermione had been pregnant with Sassa, Greg had been endlessly intrigued by how her body stretched and changed to accommodate the new life. Briefly, Hermione thought about convincing Greg to take parentage of these children. He was so much more mature than the twins. And he’d be a wonderful father. Her gaze gentled and she leaned forward to kiss him. Their kiss was wet with her tears and tempered with his gentleness, but it held the promise of heat. As much as she wished it, she couldn’t do that to Greg. These twins would undoubtedly have red hair just like their fathers. And Greg deserved a chance to raise his own children, not someone else’s. Or, rather, she thought with a growl of anger, two idiot someone else's’.   
As Greg pulled her tightly to his chest and kissed her temple, Hermione sighed. One of his hands wandered freely, reverently exploring her body atop her camisole. And she desperately needed the distraction. Pushing her anger and disappoint with the twins from her mind, she clung desperately to the slow build of fire in her stomach. She didn't want to think about the incident or how she was now carrying two children for a pair of men who never behaved like anything more than children themselves. She just wanted to feel. To feel loved and cherished and like she wasn’t surrounded by imbeciles.  
As Greg slipped his hand into her transfigured pajama pants, seeking her heat with a fat finger, Hermione had the brief thought that it was funny she now went to Gregory Goyle to get away from imbeciles. In school he would have been the one she’d put in that category. Big, dumb and hungry. That had been all she’d cared to know about Greg back then.   
Now… now she knew just how sweet and gentle he could be. And while he wasn’t Einstein, Merlin or Severus Snape, Greg had proved to be surprisingly insightful. If his solutions were often simple, Hermione moaned as he played her flesh, well, she’d discovered she needed a little simple in her life from time to time. Like now. A simple distraction from the devastation of the irresponsible fathers of her children.  
All thoughts flew out of her mind, though, as Greg eased his middle finger into her center. Throwing back her head, Hermione moaned as he stretched and teased her. Already she could feel the coil of heat in her belly tightening unbelievably and she knew that Greg would bring her to that crest a half dozen times before he himself was spent that night. Whispering their clothes off–gods she loved magic!–Hermione reached between them to grasp him. She gushed over his probing fingers when she realized he was already hard for her. Leaning forward, Hermione pressed another chaste kiss against his lips, her gaze never leaving his.  
“Make love to me,” she said. Make me forget.  
His slow smile melted her almost as much as his fingers. Greg shifted his position against the headboard, withdrawing his fingers from Hermione’s heat only to replace them with something much larger. Grasping her hips, he controlled the speed at which he filled her, making her feel every single inch as it stretched her. Hermione panted, her fingers digging into his chest. Only once she was fully seated did she lean forward to kiss him again, satisfied that it was going to be a long, long night and not once would she think about the twins.


End file.
